


The Young Newcomer

by Urbiezira



Series: Raising the Future [1]
Category: Luke Cage (TV)
Genre: Babies, Fluff, Humor, M/M, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-06
Updated: 2018-10-06
Packaged: 2019-07-27 04:38:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,895
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16211585
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Urbiezira/pseuds/Urbiezira
Summary: "It’s about eight in the morning when Comanche pushes through the doors of Harlem’s Paradise with a baby carrier tied around his chest. While that is strange enough in itself, the baby, whose tiny yellow-socked feet dangle from the sides, really makes Shades question whether he truly did wake up this morning."Also known as: Comanche tries his hand at parenting, and Shades really isn't so sure about it yet! Set in an AU where Shades works at/owns Harlem's Paradise, Mariah is not in the picture and Comanche is still alive.





	The Young Newcomer

**Author's Note:**

> While I truly love angst with all my heart, I've decided to present you all with some ShadyChe fluff! It's my first fic in the Luke Cage fandom, and my first fic in a long while. For me it's a bit of a way to get reacquainted with writing, and especially with writing this pairing (since I've never done that before).
> 
> I'm usually not someone who writes fluff, since I'm all about angst and deep trains of thought. As a result, characterisation and flow might be way off. As I said, it's a bit of a writing exercise for me. However, I hope I can still make some people happy with this!
> 
> It's mostly pre-slash for now, but everything from the series has happened (apart from Comanche dying, obviously), so they do have their history. Apart from that, it's set in an AU where Shades runs Harlem's Paradise, Comanche works for him and Mariah is out of the picture. It's a fluffy version of a fix-it!
> 
> For now, thank you very much for clicking on this fic, and I hope you enjoy it!

It’s about eight in the morning when Comanche pushes through the doors of Harlem’s Paradise with a baby carrier tied around his chest. While that is strange enough in itself, the baby, whose tiny yellow-socked feet dangle from the sides, really makes Shades question whether he truly did wake up this morning.

“Yo B, got milk?”

Instead of answering, Shades lifts one eyebrow far enough above his glasses that he can practically feel the wrinkles appear on his forehead. Legs slightly spread, Shades uncrosses his arms and waits for Comanche to explain why he thought bringing a baby to the club would be a good idea. Or why he is carrying a baby in the first place. Shades isn’t yet ruling out the option that he’s still asleep.

Comanche has other plans, however. He dives behind the bar and starts rummaging through the fridges, while at the same time trying not to squish the little thing’s head between some surface and an arm muscle. He huffs as he goes, obviously displeased with the content of the cabinets, until he seems to have found what he’s looking for.

“Milk!” Comanche exclaims, a tad bit too excited, Shades thinks.

When Shades realises that there is not going to be any change in this new status-quo any time soon, he walks with measured steps to the bar, halting right in front of it. He tilts his head at Comanche, who’s busy pouring milk into what seems to be a baby bottle.

“What’s this?”

Comanche halts in his tracks, and turns towards his friend to give him a look that says ‘what the fuck are you on about?’.

“This’s Thomas, I’m tryna feed him his milk,” he deadpans.

“I can see that,” Shades replies, not able to prevent the upturn of the corners of his mouth as he does. He watches intently as Comanche continues his effort of filling the bottle with the cold milk, before shaking it to seemingly check for any leaks. It’s a totally new Comanche that appears when the baby looks up at him expectantly. A big smile forms on his face and nonsensical words come out of his mouth, somethings Shades never expected to hear from his friend.

When Comanche boobs the baby’s nose and it giggles in delight, Shades is sure that if he’s not asleep, he has at least landed himself in a different dimension this morning. One in which gangsters take previously unknown babies to work with them. In a baby carrier.

“What the fuck is going on, Che?”

“Nigga!” Comanche almost drops the bottle in his haste to cover the baby’s ears, “Watch your language! I’m trying to raise this one to be good! …or at least better, y’know?”

Shades doesn’t know which part of this statement he needs to think about first: the fact that his best friend just acknowledged that he’s raising a baby, the fact that he wants to raise it good – whatever that means – or the fact that he replied to Shades’ swearing by cussing at him in return. It doesn’t happen often, but his mind is reeling.

“My cousin had a baby in jail – couldn’t keep him, obviously – so I’m stepping in. Family first, was it?” Comanche continues, while restarting his effort of feeding the baby who is gurgling away, “I’ll be this guy’s baby daddy, man!”

The words ‘baby daddy’ do Shades in. He takes off his sunglasses, leans forward onto the bar with his forearms and just starts laughing. It’s one of those laughs that comes from deep within the torso, the absurdity of it all too much even for Shades to handle. Blood? No problem. Killing? Sure thing. Being dead-ass silent to intimidate someone? Shades is the one you call! But Comanche – big, tough and deadly Comanche – taking care of a baby? No, even Shades has his limits.

“Oh c’mon man,” Comanche whines, “Remember when you said we could be more than just gangsters? Maybe this is it for me, B!”

A tear nearly threatens to drop from the corner of Shades’ eye from laughing, but he composes himself for the sake of his friend. He raises himself until he’s upright again and puts his hands out in front of him. Comanche watches him with his brow frowned.

“Alright,” Shades yields, “Alright, fair enough. You’re gonna raise…,” he takes a deep breath, for he fears he might laugh again, “…a baby. Ok.”

The moment that thought more or less settles in Shades’ head, and he’s no longer afraid he will burst out laughing at any moment, he locks his hands together in front of his chest as if in deep thought.

“So let’s start at the beginning, shall we? Where do you think you’re gonna live? I’m not sure that crackhead apartment of yours qualifies as a ‘good’ living environment for a kid.”

Once again, Comanche frowns at the man in the suit as if he’s just asked him if the sky is blue. “With you,” he retorts, “You have a nice place. You have a bedroom to spare.”

“You, and this baby, are gonna live with me?” Shades responds, both eyebrows now raised in surprise and a touch of annoyance.

The baby chooses that moment to let Comanche know, rather loudly, that the bottle is not tilted enough and no milk is coming out. Its wail is piercing, and Shades knows that if that little demon keeps him up at night, whoever looks at him wrong the next morning will come to regret it.

“No,” a clear response, “No, no you’re not taking that thing into my house.”

“You’re barely there!” Comanche pleads while trying to calm the baby down. Shades thinks that their loud voices are probably only making things worse, and he sighs deeply. “It’ll only be for sleeping, man, c’mon! Help a brother out, will you?”

“That’s exactly the problem though, isn’t it?” he says hushed, in the hope the baby will stop waging war on his ears, “There won’t be a lot of sleeping!”

Those words seem to trigger a whole other response in Comanche (who has finally managed to shut up the demon-child), and he takes a step towards the bar. “It’ll be just like the old days,” he grins at Shades.

The memories come back to Shades in a flash, all of them pleasant, and all of them not appropriate for the current discussion. He knows what game Comanche is playing. If Shades doesn’t watch out, he knows that it’s just a matter of time before the man in front of him is asleep in his bed while _he_ is up in the middle of the night to feed a child that isn’t even his.

A strangely tender feeling – entirely unwelcome – then warms his chest. “Oh no,” he says out loud, and that is the moment Shades knows that Comanche already has the upper hand. And doesn’t he know it.

“We could pick up some of that roast chicken from that new place on the corner, watch some bad movies and just catch up! What’s the last time you and me really _connected_ , B?”

“Connected?” Shades wrinkles his nose in disapproval, “I know what you mean with that. And it ain’t happening.”

His body suddenly feels tense, as if someone has his chest in a vice grip. He turns around, away from Comanche, looking up at the stage that is luckily still empty at this hour. _Everything_ , even the air he tries to breathe, all of a sudden feels constricting. He rolls his shoulders but it doesn’t really change anything. Behind him, he hears Comanche sigh.

It’s not something Shades likes to acknowledge or think about, his past with Comanche, let alone speak out loud. He cannot blame Comanche for bringing it up; it isn’t the first time, and he knows it won’t be the last time he tries to get Shades to open up. However, even with that knowledge it still makes his insides shake and tremble; whether that’s with fear or desire he does not know.

Normally he would enjoy it if people looked at him while he was walking around in the club, because he knows that they envy his composure. But right now, he’s just glad that there is no technician, bartender or cleaning lady to witness the creation of a tiny dent in his carefully constructed veil of control.

“Sorry man, that was out of line.”

“Yeah,” Shades concurs.

Behind his back things are happening, but Shades doesn’t want to turn around to see what Comanche is doing. He knows in these moments that Comanche will try and give him some form of comfort, even though Shades always says that’s the last thing he needs. Nevertheless, Comanche appears next to him, baby still strapped to his chest.

When Shades looks over to his side, he sees that it’s put one of its tiny fingers in his own mouth, and he – baby Thomas, Shades reminds himself – looks up at him with big eyes. That’s the moment Shades realises he’s left his glasses on the bar, and that he’d really like them to get out from under this piercing stare. Instead, he gives the baby a once over to divert his attention, and frowns at its onesie.

“Why is he wearing a pink onesie, Che?”

Surprised by the turn of the conversation, it takes Comanche a while to catch up with what Shades is talking about, but then he beams in recognition.

“Gender roles, Shades!”

Shades doesn’t really know what words are going to come out of his fellow Rivals’ mouth next, but he’s already internally sighing.

“Pink isn’t just for girls anymore, I read it online-“

“And if you read it online it must be true-“ Shades mumbles.

“-It’s all about not forcing masculinity on them and all that, ain’t good for them.”

Now Shades gives Comanche a once-over, before looking around the room, to finally land on the gun that’s stuck into the back of Comanche’s pants.

“So you’re trying to balance out the masculinity of being a giant black gangster with a piece shoved into the back of his pants, by dressing him in all the colours of the rainbow?”

To that, Comanche replies with laughter. Real, genuine laughter. Teeth bared and head thrown back, and it catches Shades off guard. That feeling he had earlier is back, and he knows he’s now officially no longer a contender in this Comanche versus Shades fight. Silence slowly falls over them, only filled with the sound of water dripping from a tab behind them, and the baby sucking on his own finger.

“Maybe you can teach him some nice Spanish words,” Comanche says gently, still smiling, “None of those things they called you when we were young, but real words, y’know? Boat, apple, house, all that shit.”

“Language,” Shades replies easily, before he can catch himself. Shit. Comanche looks at him in surprise. What Comanche does, the baby does, so before he knows it Shades has got two pairs of eyes staring at him intently. Again.

“See?” Comanche’s tone of voice is hiding a smirk, “You’re already getting the hang of it! So, are you gonna be _papa,_ or _daddy_?”

* * *

And that’s how Shades spends the evening on the couch with Comanche, roast chicken, Sharknado playing on TV, and a little baby Thomas asleep on his lap. Comanche versus Shades? 1-0.

**Author's Note:**

> Firstly: thank you so much for reading! I plan on writing more of this specific AU, just little snippets of their lives with baby Thomas, so I'd love to hear your input on what you'd like to read next!
> 
> Please tell me what you thought and/or leave me a prompt or suggestion in the comments, and I'll see if I can incorporate that into any future works in this series. Oh, also feel free to leave me angsty prompts, related to this mini-series AU or not. I'd love to see what people would like to read!


End file.
